


Don't You (Forget About Me)

by AngelicGrace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Charlie kicks ass, Dean is the proudest brother ever, High School Student Sam, M/M, Singer Castiel, So basically, dean is a dork, he's dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-02 01:44:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5229152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelicGrace/pseuds/AngelicGrace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is a talented musician with no inspiration, and Dean is putting his brother through school. They meet at a bar, and Castiel finds his muse (though he's so drunk he can't remember the guy's name the next day, let alone his phone number). Mutual pining occurs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't You (Forget About Me)

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first long fic that is less poetic and more narrational, so please give me any feedback you can! Constructive criticism and kudos will always be appreciated :)

It all started when a guy walked into a bar. Dean looked up from his beer as the door swung open and had to stop himself from letting out a low whistle. The guy was insanely attractive, with messy dark hair and eyes that looked like they could cut through glass.

Jo popped up next to Dean, her blonde hair brushing his elbow. “Appreciating the eye-candy?”

Dean groaned. “Jo, you’re not even twenty-one, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Shut up, Mom.” She shot back. “But admit it. You totally want to hit that.” She smirked, gesturing unsubtly at the man in question. “I mean, I can see the appeal. Look at his _hair_. It’s like he just got out of bed, but he sure as hell wasn’t sleeping, if you know what I mean.” She winked and disappeared, leaving Dean to ogle said eye-candy in peace. Dean found his eyes following the man as he took a seat at the bar and ordered a whiskey.

Dean slid into the seat next to him. “Make that _two_ whiskeys, Ellen,” he called to the bartender, who also happened to be his adoptive mother.

“Dean Winchester, don’t think I haven’t been keeping track of how much you’ve been drinking lately. Now leave this poor boy alone,” Ellen warned, fixing him with a glare before sweeping off to the bar, muttering about how the lazy ass should get his own goddamn whiskey.

“Sorry, am I bothering you?” Dean looked slightly sheepish, but raised one eyebrow as he looked at the dark-haired man.

The man next to him quickly glanced at Dean, a hint of amusement in his eyes, and nothing but sincerity in his voice. “It’s all right. Some company would be quite pleasurable. Was that your mother?”

“She’s as good as,” Dean grumbled. “The woman doesn’t let me have any fun. I’m Dean, if you didn’t get that from Ellen.” He rolled his eyes good-naturedly before fixing the other man with an expectant stare. A few awkward seconds stretched by as green eyes met blue. _Holy shit, his eyes were blue_. Damn, Dean had dated people with blue eyes before, but he could drown in those eyes if they weren't so calm and sincere.

“My name is Castiel,” the other man offered awkwardly.

Dean ignored his hesitance, responding with enthusiasm. “Dude, that’s a seriously cool name. Angel of Thursday, right?”

Castiel looked surprised. “Yes, how did you—”

Dean ducked his head. “My brother’s a huge fan of mythology,” he interjected. “Such a fucking nerd,” he added fondly, shaking his head. “I used to read this huge book of myths to him when he was little. Some facts stuck, here and there.”

A spark of interest flared in Castiel’s eyes. “I’m a history buff myself. Your brother has good tastes.”

“That he does. Really though, Sammy’s such a smart kid. He’s turning eighteen this year so he’s working his ass off on all those college apps. He’s got his heart set on Stanford.” Dean confided. He knew he sounded like a boasting parent, but he couldn’t help it. He was so proud of his brother. After all they’d been through, Sam had turned out all right, even if he hadn’t.

Castiel smiled at him. It wasn’t an I’m-humoring-you-because-I-want-to-get-laid smile; he seemed genuinely interested in Dean and his life. In fact, everything about Castiel was genuine. His eyes showed his every flicker of emotion, and he only seemed to smile when he really wanted to.

It was this sincerity that kept Dean talking to Castiel long into the night. They talked as dozens of customers came in, got wasted, and stumbled out the door flat-out drunk. Dean wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or just a gut feeling that he could trust this man that made him bare his soul to Castiel. He talked about his deadbeat dad, the mother he barely remembered, and how he basically had to raise Sam on his own until Ellen took them in. In turn, Castiel spoke of his restricted, childhood among a strict, religious family that said they wanted the best for him, but really just wanted him to do as they said. To lighten the mood, they swapped stories of their siblings’ antics. Castiel would describe a particularly vicious prank his brother played on him, and Dean would retaliate with stories of pranks he played on Sam. They talked and drank as the Roadhouse hubbub quieted to murmurs, until Ellen finally announced last call.

Dean hesitantly grabbed Castiel’s arm, in contrast to his sloppy, drunk grin as he said, “D’you wanna to get outta here, Cas?”

“Yesssss,” Castiel slurred, before promptly leaning forward and chastely pressing his lips to Dean’s. The touch was soft, and quick, but it filled Dean with warmth he didn’t recognize. Damn, he was turning into a chick, getting all worked up about one kiss.

Castiel smiled. “’ve never kissed a boy before.” He announced in a singsong voice before toppling off his chair.

“Fucking lightweight,” Dean muttered, but he couldn’t stop the goofy smile that was spreading across his face. “C’mon Cas, let’s get you home. You’re too drunk for this.”

“Mhmm,” Castiel hummed his agreement. “M’ brother’s outsssside,” he announced, drawing out the consonance of the ‘s’ before giggling, his cheeks slightly pink from all the alcohol.

Jesus Christ, he was cute. A grown man is not supposed to be that goddamn adorable, Dean thought, shaking his head grumpily. Then the second part of Cas’s sentence filtered into his head.

“Dude, why the fuck is your brother here? You’re a grown-ass man.”

“’M the baby of the family,” Castiel grumbled, putting air quotes around the last four words.

“Poor you.” Dean mumbled, before Castiel pulled him in for another kiss. Cas’s mouth was warm and soft, his tongue tracing the edge of Dean’s lips. What was even happening anymore? All Dean had wanted was a quick fuck, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to get that with Cas. Hell, he’d even gotten to know the guy, and even in his drunken state, Dean knew well enough that Cas was special. He was too good for a one-night stand, especially with someone like Dean. He pulled back from the kiss, affectionately carding his hands through Cas’s sex hair.

“Cas, do you have a pen?”

“Pocket,” Cas sang, perfectly in key. Fuck, the guy was drunk off his ass if he was singing about pockets.

Dean fished the pen out of Cas’s trench coat and opened the other man’s hand, carefully writing his phone number on Cas’s warm palm. “Call me, okay?”

“M’kay, Dan. Imma call you.” Cas cooed, before slumping into Dean’s arms, half-asleep.

“It’s _Dean_ , dumbass,” Dean murmured. He caught sight of a short, bored-looking man waiting outside the bar. “Hey, are you Cas’s brother?”

“That I am. The hell did you do to him?” The man fixed Dean with a stare that made him flinch.

“Nothing, dude. Your brother just doesn’t know how to hold his liquor.” Dean smirked before depositing a half-conscious Castiel into his brother’s arms.

“Byyye Dan,” Cas slurred, giving Dean a little half-wave before promptly being dragged away by his brother.

Dean chuckled. “See ya ‘round, Cas.”

 

* * *

 

 

Castiel woke up with a killer headache and the worst hangover he’d had since high school.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!” His brother hollered from the kitchen.

Castiel groaned and dragged himself off the couch, massaging the crick in his neck. “Make me some coffee?” He croaked.

“Aww, does poor wittle Cassie have a hangover?” Gabriel asked in mock pity.

 “Shut up.” Castiel called over his shoulder as he marched into the bathroom. He washed his hands carefully, noticing a phone number written in marker on his palm. He shrugged, scrubbing the ink off before hurling himself back onto the couch

“What happened last night?” he asked his brother.

Gabriel strolled into the room, a lollipop in his mouth. “First of all, you got the most drunk I’ve ever seen you. Second, you did _not_ get laid, as you can probably tell.” His brother gestured at the couch in clear disappointment. “Third, the only reason you didn’t get laid was because you were completely hammered. This smokin’ hot guy carried you out of the bar and dumped your drunk ass with me. You kissed him, and he gave you his number. Sound familiar?”

It was starting to come back to him. Castiel remembered a charming green-eyed man with freckles and a beautiful smile. What was his name? Was it Dan? David?

“Shit,” he announced, staring at his hand. Why had he washed off (Doug? Danny?)’s phone number? “I promised that I would call him.”

“So call him. It’s not that hard, kiddo.” His brother’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“I do not seem to have his phone number.” Castiel groaned. “I should not have washed my hands this morning. I don’t even know his name,”

“Boo-fucking-hoo,” Gabriel retorted. “Why don’t you channel your heartbreak into a song about how dreamy his eyes are? That’s what you singers do, right?”

Castiel rolled his eyes, and then considered the idea. He needed to have enough songs for an album in a few months anyway. He might as well get started. “Gabe, you’re a genius,” he called after his brother’s retreating form.

“I know,” came the immediate reply.

Castiel smiled, grabbing his guitar, and began to write.

 

* * *

 

It had been two days since he told Cas to call him, and Dean was not pining. Sure, maybe he’d been checking his phone so constantly that Sam had to confiscate it in annoyance, and he might have been sitting morosely around the house watching Doctor Sexy, but he wasn’t _pining_. He was just…bored. Sam wasn’t buying it, and if he was being honest with himself, Dean wasn’t either.

His phone buzzed.

 

 **JO:** So…has Mr. Eye-Candy called you yet, or are you still moping around the house like a pathetic loser?

 **DEAN:** Fuck off

 **JO:** So I’m going to assume moping

 **JO:** Why are you so hung up on him anyway? You didn’t even sleep with him

 **DEAN:** Not everything’s about sex, Joanna Beth

 **JO:** Says the sex addict

 **JO:** So what was it then? Is Dean Winchester in looove? <3

 **DEAN:** I just met the guy

 **JO:** But you like him

 **DEAN:** …maybe

 **JO:** I can ask Charlie to get you his number

 **DEAN:** Dude no

 **DEAN:** If you tell Charlie about him she will kick my ass for not telling her

 **JO:** And then she’ll do some illegal shit to get info on him

 **JO:** It’s perfect :) maybe i should come over and bring some popcorn…I’m bored as hell

 **DEAN:** I SWEAR TO GOD

_(Charlie calling)_

**DEAN:** Jo I’m gonna kill you

 **JO:** You love me.

 **JO:** Call me if you survive xoxo

 

* * *

 

Dean sighed. He may as well accept his fate. He picked up his phone and pressed ACCEPT CALL.

The first thing he heard when he placed his phone by his ear was, “Dean Winchester, I will kick your ass.”

“So I’m guessing Jo called you.” He said conversationally.

“Damn straight.” Charlie barked with conviction.

“Considering we’re talking about my huge-ass crush on a man, I’m not sure if ‘damn straight’ was the best thing to say right there.” Dean interjected wryly, rolling his eyes at his friend’s unfortunate word choice.

“Stop rolling your eyes,” she ordered.

“I wasn’t—” he began to protest.

“Yes you were.” She interrupted before he could get another word in.

“You can’t even see me,” Dean pointed out smugly.

 “Shut up. I need details.” Charlie barked into the phone

“What, you going to run a full-on background check on him?”

“I was just going to ask if he was dreamy, but now that you mention it—”

Dean shook his head vehemently. “No.”

“What? I’ve got to make sure he’s good enough for my handmaiden. I don’t want him sullying your honor or anything.”

Dean shook his head in amazement. He had gone LARPing with her _once_ , three years ago, and she still brought it up. “That was one time!” He protested. “I’m not your goddamn handmaiden, I’m…” he trailed off.

“A cocky bastard who thinks he’s way manlier than he is?” Charlie supplied helpfully, a hint of amusement in her voice.

Dean was about to protest, but had nothing to say. “Fair enough.” They fell into some good-natured bickering before Charlie finally remembered why she’d called in the first place.

“So…Jo told me your man is pretty eye-catching. You wanna clarify?”

“He’s not my man,” Dean said automatically. “And what’s there to clarify? He’s fucking hot. He’s got dark hair with that ‘I just rolled out of bed’ look, and his eyes are blue as hell.” Dean found himself babbling about Cas, and then flushed. Since when had he turned into a teenage girl?

“Mm…sounds like my type.” Charlie mused teasingly.

“I’m pretty sure he has a dick, Charlie. So…not your type.” Dean snapped, with more venom than he had intended. Jesus Christ. He was getting territorial over a guy he had met once who never called him back. _Chill the fuck out, Winchester_.

“Whoa there! Possessive much?” She let out a startled laugh. “What’s his name?”

“Cas.” Dean’s voice went soft. Oh God, he really was turning into a chick.

“Cute.” She sounded too smug. Dean was suspicious already. “Well I’ve got some digging up I’ve got to do on this ‘Cas’, so I’ll talk to you later. Roadhouse tonight?”

“Nah, I’ve gotta get to the garage early tomorrow. You know how Bobby is,” Dean frowned. “Wish I could though.”

“It’s fine. I probably have shit to do anyway.” Charlie sighed.

“Let’s do a Lord of the Rings marathon instead. My place?” He suggested with a smile. He knew Charlie could never turn down an offer like that.

Sure enough, she blurted out, “Hell yes. I love you.”

“I know,” he answered automatically.

“Bye.” She chirped.

“Bye.” He replied.

He ended the call and texted Jo.

 

 **DEAN:** I’m not dead

 **JO:** Well that’s fantastic

 **DEAN:** No thanks to you

 **JO:** You’re welcome

 **DEAN:** You suck

 

* * *

 

 Castiel strummed his guitar softly, plucking out chords at random, trying to fit in his prewritten lyrics. Writing was hard. It was putting together a puzzle with pieces missing, stringing together notes and words, combining them with the perfect chord progressions, but at the same time, it was significantly more difficult than any puzzle ever could be. The lyrics and notes needed to be imbued with feeling and soul. Until Castiel had met that man at the bar, his songs had been flat and melancholy for years. Perhaps that was just what happened when the majority of your family disowned you for refusing to go to college and picking up a guitar instead.

And then Castiel met that man in the bar, and his creativity exploded. He wrote song after song detailing the precise shade of the man’s eyes, and the pitch of his baritone laugh. He had an album’s worth of material inspired by this man (did that make him a creeper?). All he needed to do was send in a demo to the record label, and maybe, just maybe, he would get his big break.

Castiel sighed and began to sing.

_Oh, I know stories of your brother; I know the color of your eyes_

_You stormed your way into my life; you were a surprise_

_But there’s one thing about you that puts me to shame_

_No matter how well I know you, I can’t remember your name_

 

* * *

 Gabriel stood in the doorway, watching his brother pour himself into his song. Castiel’s voice was husky gravel rolling its way through the notes, weaving between the soft guitar chords, and it was beautiful. His song sent shivers down Gabe’s back with its plaintive longing laced with gratitude. He told none of this to Castiel, however. Once his brother’s playing ceased, Gabriel strolled up to Castiel and slapped him hard on the back. “Damn, you’re like a lovesick puppy, Cassie. We need to find that guy.”

Castiel snorted. “It is likely that he does not even remember me.” His voice was robotic, but Gabriel knew his brother well enough to know he cared. His eyes spoke volumes of his want, his longing for someone he can’t even name.

Gabriel uncharacteristically patted him on the arm. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. You’re not so easy to forget,” he said, his mouth quirking up into an encouraging half-smile before straightening up. “Now you send that damn label your album, get famous, and get your guy. If they don’t sign you, I will kick their ass, got it?”

“Gabriel…” Castiel sighed, but he knew what his brother was trying to say. He should send them his album and not look back. So he did, and everything changed.

**Author's Note:**

> Just let me know what you think of it? should I continue?


End file.
